


An Anthology Of Verse, written by a traumatised (yet certified) idiot

by QueerCosette



Category: Original Work
Genre: Betrayal, Bisexual Character, Fae & Fairies, Nature, Poetry, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-08 07:28:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21472282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerCosette/pseuds/QueerCosette
Summary: I asked my followers on Tumblr if they'd be interested in reading some of my original poetry if I posted it here. Four likes and a comment saying "Yes please!!" is more than good enough for me. I hope you enjoy it!(Note: A lot of this was initially written a few years ago - or even longer. Some of it has - naturally - been edited since my initial draft, but some of it may have a different style to my more recent writing.)(Another Note: I will be posting new poems as they come to me, or I rediscover them. I will also update tags as I go.)
Kudos: 2





	1. Backstabber

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to a girl I was friends with in high school, who perhaps didn't treat me the way a friend ought to.

BACKSTABBER

You befriended me when no one else would.

You promised to stay by my side.

You swore to stand up for me.

You told me that you’d accept my choices in life.

You lied.

You shared my darkest secret with

A Boy Who Hated Me.

You made me feel worthless in front of

My Crush.

The boys called me a slut and

You Laughed.

I confessed to you that I was bisexual and

You Mocked Me For It.

Others stare at my impassive marble face.

They whisper things I’d rather not repeat.

I never thought you’d be one of them,

Be a backstabber.


	2. The Burnt Elm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The burnt Elm is one of my favourite places to visit, and simply sit and think.

THE BURNT ELM

The forest

is by no means silent or still.

Birds twitter

to the north east.

Something else that does not twitter

is to the north west.

It is immune to the overhead sunlight.

Permanently shrouded in

Darkness.

Insects catch the light

on their wings, flitter between

the golden oak trees.

It is beautiful.

But something terrible has happened here.

The lone chequered ribbon

still hangs from a branch

of the cracked Elm.

Cracked.

Burned.

Scorched.

Dead.

Where there was once magic

filling the air

pouring into every pore

and every orifice

there is now only decay.

Desolate.

As if all the magic has been

sucked out of the air.

Out of me.

I don't think it will come back.


	3. My grandmother warned me.

** My grandmother warned me. **

“There are Fae in these parts,”

My grandmother warned me.

“In the shadows

And between the trees

And behind the rocks.”

I never believed her until now.

The girl behind the counter smiles

Too sharp.

Her eyes gleam as she hands me my order,

Food she has prepared herself

By her own hand

And I wonder if I’ve signed something over to her.

“They have an unsettling air,” my grandmother warned me.

“Can I have your name?”

The barista asks, listening carefully.

It’s his job.

Perhaps I’m overthinking this.

But all the same

I answer just as carefully as he asked.

“They are tricky,” my grandmother warned me.

“I’ve lost my doll,”

Weeps the little girl in the park.

“I wish I had another!”

I wisely don’t say anything

Or I might well lose control of my being

To her.

“You can tell they are not of this Earth,” my grandmother warned me.

The little boy says nothing at all

But he stares.

I turn away, then glance back.

Still he stares.

His eyes are green.

He never once blinks.

“They try to pretend they are like us,” my grandmother warned me.

Now I know my grandmother was right.

But the Fae do not live in the shadows.

They do not live between trees

Or behind rocks.

They are all around us.

They could surround you, and you would never know.

“It’s the little things they slip up in,” my grandmother warns me.

And her shadow flickers.


	4. Blue Whale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This poem was actually written by me more than 9 years ago. At the time I had a deep fascination with whales, so this is dedicated to my love, my nemesis, my nightmare and my obsession, the biggest creature that has ever lived on Earth:
> 
> The blue whale.

Mine is the groan,

As loud as a jet.

My moan and my sigh,

Are to be discovered yet.

Mine are the flukes,

That propel me down deep.

Mine are the flukes,

That make up and down sweeps.

Mine is the baleen,

That the whalers trade.

Mine is the baleen,

So I am afraid.


End file.
